


Rhododendron ashes

by maylor39



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Eventual Romance, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Violence, Pseudo-History, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maylor39/pseuds/maylor39
Summary: 𝐀 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐀 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐀 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫.𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡.
Relationships: Brian May/Chrissie Mullen, Brian May/Roger Taylor, Chrissie Mullen & Queen (Ensemble)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE DO NOT SEND FANFIC LINKS TO QUEEN MEMBERS, QUEEN’S FAMILY MEMBERS, FRIENDS, AND THE BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY CAST.**
> 
> **THANK YOU. x**

  
  
**H** e had faced death so many times before. Even too close from shaking the cold, merciless, skeletal hands of the Reaper. The feeling of death approaching could never have been this so familiar. Almost like greeting an old acquaintance.   
  
But this time…  
  
…he had never felt the need to keep himself alive.  
  
  


~☆♛☆♕☆♛☆♕☆~

  
  
A twig snapped outside as birds flew by. Today is the start of autumn; naturally, the manor is exceptionally cold than usual. The air inside the study room smelled like old books and fresh cigars.  
  
Sighing loudly, Baron Michael Taylor, who arrived an hour ago, stared at the letter again before stating, “The King have requested your service.”

“Yes. I’m aware, sir.”  
  
The Baron’s blue gray eyes looked at him downheartedly. However, the glow from the fireplace is giving his face a harsh front.  
  
“Roger... son... are you sure about this?”  
  
“Yes. My mind’s already made up, father.”  
  
The lord of the manor must’ve felt that he answered with no hesitation. Roger watched as his father’s lips parted, as if to say something more, before they were set into a straight line. Then, after lowering his eyes, the Baron told Roger with a hand gesture towards the door, “Then you may go.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” with a polite bow, Roger left the room.

After that conversation, Roger headed back to his bedroom. Kicking off his shoes, he bounced to the bed, landing on his back. To lie down on his lush four-poster bed still feels odd. He’s quite used to sleeping on his bed at the base camp: made out of haystack and soft sheets that slightly smelled like urine and bleach.  
  
“Father is being a fool, isn’t he?” he recalled Clare, his younger sister, saying two days ago. Sprawled on the fur carpet inside the library, his sister placed the book that she’s reading on the top of her chest, eyes trailing the ceiling. “He’s letting his big ego get into his head again.”  
  
Sat on the velvet chaise lounge, Roger looks up from his sketch pad, smiling as he told her, “You know it’s rare for me to hear you talk bad about father openly like that.”

“Just pointing the fact, that’s all,” Clare shrugged, putting one foot over the other.  
  
“Are you and father still in bad terms?” Roger asked curiously.  
  
Three years ago, Lady Clare Taylor was supposed to be a candidate as one of the late King Charles’ concubines. However, Clare flat out refused the offer and threatened her parents that she’ll poison herself if they’ll still insist the offer. Roger had thought back then that his sister was being stubborn and difficult. _Of course_ , they would pick her: a young, virgin maiden; breathtakingly beautiful, and extremely brilliant for a sixteen-year-old girl who was already aspiring to be a doctor of medicine. Most importantly, she belongs to one of the richest and most powerful aristocratic families of Lombardy-Pazar.  
  
Both Clare and Roger were raised in such a high-class upbringing, almost the same level as the royal children.   
  
Lady Clare Taylor was the obvious perfect choice. If Roger dare to say it out loud, Clare is a much better choice than the previous Queen even. The previous Queen’s flaws and weakness would be more obvious if they were to make a list and compare her to Lady Clare. Queen Marianna who was already in her late 20s, but still hasn’t produce a male heir. It wasn’t only the King, but lots of noble bachelors —young and old— have been wooing Roger’s younger sister after she turned fourteen.  
  
To have someone in their family to be written in history books as a King’s concubine, it would be a great honor to the already eminent Taylor family.  
  
However, Clare isn’t your typical, obedient noble daughter— she’s the total opposite. She’s stubborn and hardheaded. A bit of a narcissist sometimes. So then Clare scared off their parents by acting like a madwoman. She once attempted to slash her personal favorite maid’s neck while having lunch. Clare had also stripped down and danced naked around the house while her parents had important visitors.  
The final straw was when Clare claimed that she saw a premonition of Roger’s death, and his ghost often visited her in her sleep; it was when Roger was away to fight at war. Horrified, their parents had sent her away to Harbrough castle, to be privately checked by a doctor. Also, to be shielded away from the public’s eyes and not to cause any further embarrassing and scandalous rumors. The moment Roger came back from war, he immediately visited his sister. And that was the time when Clare finally confessed to Roger what she was doing.   
  
“They’ll never make me marry that man!” Clare insisted, baring gritted teeth in anger. “And isn’t the King’s mother our father’s first cousin? Haven’t they been warned and educated about inbreeding already? They disgusts me!”  
  
To Clare’s luck, it seems that the odds are in her favor. Three months later the same year, they received a news that King Charles died due to pneumonia. Six months later, Queen Mariana was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a miscarriage. The throne is now being handed over to the Kingdom’s youngest Princess, one of King Charles’ younger sisters. She is now known as Queen Christine. The then Princess just turned 12 that year.  
  
Clare was no longer being considered to be a concubine. She no longer needs to play the role of a madwoman. In a snap of a finger, she’s back on her feet as if she was just being possessed by a bad spirit.  
  
“No. Father and I are in great terms,” Clare said. “Although, I still think he’s still very bitter about many things.”  
  
“Such as…?”  
  
“About the fact that we have a foreign Prince sitting on the throne of the King. The murder of the King’s brother, Prince James. Me not being a concubine to his late Majesty…” slowly, Clare listed. “You, still not being properly knighted nor awarded by the King after defeating Emperor Louis in the battle. Me, being a Royal Physician instead of a Queen… should I go on?”  
  
“I think you’ve said enough, my dear sister.”  
  
Returning to his sketch pad, Roger continues sketching a view from his memory. It was the garden of Reed cathedral, a place where he stayed at after winning the war.  
  
“Are you sure you won’t stop the wedding?” Clare asked after a long silence between them. “Are you really sure that you’ll let go of her that easily?”  
  
Roger froze. Suddenly, the tear stricken face of the woman whom he loves so much, flashing back to him. Lady Dominique Marie de Beyrand, his then fiancée, slipped out her house, just to see Roger after hearing that he’s back. They met clandestinely at the Churchill cathedral. The moment Dominique entered the cathedral, Roger quickly embraced and kissed her. They’ve shared a long, passionate kiss, witnessed by the statues of saints and angels.  
  
This clandestine and urgent meeting was a surprise and a confusion to Roger as he’s already planning to pay a visit to her house anyway. However, the moment when Dominique started tearing up, he knew something was up.  
  
“Roger, I-I’m engaged… to Lord Hemishire…”   
  
She then showed the engagement ring on her left finger and the walls started to close in. In his reckless imagination, Roger would’ve ordered Dominique to forget the engagement, have a secret wedding, and elope. Even so, he wasn’t prepared on what she told him next, “A-and I’m carrying his child.”  
  
Dominique apologized to him over and over. She said that she begged her father to stop the wedding, but Lord de Beyrand was worried that every time Roger goes to war, the chance of his daughter getting married is always hanging by a thread. Dominique is now 22, by their society’s norm, she should’ve been married and have at least a couple of children by now.  
  
“Forget about me…please,” Dominique begged. “I’m not worth your love… or respect. Please, just forget about me. I beseech you.”  
  
“Do you still love me?” feeling as if he’s being continuously stabbed by a spear, Roger asked tearfully. “Because I love you, so very much.”  
  
Cupping his face, Dominique nods while smiling at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “With all my life.”  
  
Their reunion was brief. And before they depart, Dominique gave him a letter and left him with the deepest kiss they’ve ever shared.   
  
A touch on his arm had pulled Roger back to reality. “You deserve some happiness too, you know,” Clare is sat beside him now. “Aren’t you tired living as father’s puppet?”  
  
Her words made Roger flinched. He threw her a sharp glance, “I am not father’s puppet.”  
  
Clare challenged his gaze, slowly clenching her jaw. The soft touch on Roger’s arm gradually started to become tighter. “Stop lying to yourself, brother.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”  
  
“You do understand what I’m saying. Stop lying.”  
  
“I don’t. And I am not lying,” adamantly, Roger told his younger sister.  
  
Lowering her gaze, backing down from the stare down, Clare crossed her arms and stared at the floor instead. Quietly, she gnaws on her lower lip.  
  
“Stop that,” Roger warned her.  
  
Letting out a loud sigh, Clare stood up and takes her book from the floor. Before she left the room, she told him with a sarcastic tone, “Well at least, I will be seeing you more in the castle then.”  
  
Roger just nodded as a respond. After that, Clare left the library without another word.  
  
  
  


“Where’s father?” Roger asked, surprised seeing only his mother sitting alone in the dining room that evening.  
  
“He won’t be joining us,” Baroness Winifred Hickman answered. “Your father’s not feeling well.”  
  
Roger lowered his eyes. He knew the _real_ reason why.  
  
More dishes are being placed on the table as he sits down. Wordlessly, he took the serviette and spreads it on his lap. Just as the maid is serving him herbal ale, his mother asked him, “How are you feeling these days? Refreshed? Do you want me to call for a masseur?”  
  
Roger gave his mother a small smile, “I’m fine, mother. Actually better.”  
  
The maid plated him roasted turnips with roasted veal and Roger thanked her. After that, he picked up his utensils and starts eating. Indeed, Roger was born to a rich family, but to have these meals after fighting war for months and months, these dishes always felt like luxury to the young military commander.  
  
“Would you like to request something for tomorrow’s dinner, Roger?” Madame Hickman asked some moments later. “I’ll be going to town to buy some necessities.”  
  
His eyes twinkled. “Hmm… I’ve been craving for some scotch quail eggs and some honey-poached quince pie, please. That’s all.”  
  
Madame Hickman gave the maid a look to remember Roger’s request then they resumed eating.  
  
After having dinner, while the maid is serving him and Madame Hickman some passionflower tea, Roger found himself in the sitting room, staring at the giant portrait of his great-great grandfather, Duke William Wollingsworth-Taylor, a King’s courtier. The late duke was clad in the royal courtier’s uniform: royal blue doublet and gold livery collar. Duke Wollingsworth-Taylor served the then reigning King for 50 years up until his last breath. He’s one of the most well-known members of the Taylor bloodline.  
  
“Till this day, I’m thankful that nobody in our family got his mismatched eyes,” picking up her embroidery, Madame Hickman commented. “Gives me the creeps if I stare too long.”  
  
“Really?” Roger slight frowned. He actually like his great-great grandfather’s left blue and right green eyes. It made the Duke exceptionally unique and memorable. Clare said that it was a rare condition called ‘heterochromia’.  
  
“Should I start packing your clothes for your departure?” Madame Hickman asked, after some minutes of comfortable silence. “I think you should bring your nice shirts. The ones that you haven’t worn. You know, the ones that I gifted to you from your last birthdays.”  
  
Confused, Roger asked her, “Does that mean that you’re fine with my decision to serve the current King?”  
  
“Well you won’t be serving the King technically, right?” the Baroness shrugs. “It’s _our Queen_ that you’ll be serving, my dear son.”  
  
Roger stared at his mother in disbelief, surprised how she’s not making a big deal out of it like his father. He sat down on the floor by her foot, knees on his chest. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting that at all from you, mother…”  
  
The Baroness’ naturally pink lips turned upward as she pushes the needle to the fabric. “This role would be the least, life-threatening job you’ll ever have. It’s almost as if you’re going to have a vacation in the palace.”   
  
But it wasn’t as easy as his mother imagines it to be. Roger knew that there’s a _reason_ why he was chosen to be the Queen’s head of the Royal Guards.  
  
“At least, I will no longer be having nightmares about you blowing up to bits — or being decapitated whenever you’re at war,” she continued. “And your cousin Balthazar is also a member of the royal guard. There are also some of our relatives working at the palace. And Clare— you’ll be able to see your sister often once you’re there! So you could keep an eye on her too.”  
  
Judging by the sound of her voice, she doesn’t sound worried at all. On the contrary, she sounds happy. Excited even.  
  
Roger couldn’t help but look at her and wonder. The glow from the fireplace illuminating his mother’s beautiful face and delicate facial bone structure. Her expert fingers working on her latest embroidery piece. On her left ring finger wraps around the gold band of her wedding ring with its elegant sapphire. It was an heirloom of her grandmother’s, a Marquees.  
  
She must’ve noticed that Roger has been staring at her for too long, so the mansion’s mistress regarded him with a small smile. “I won’t be able to answer what’s bothering you, if you will not ask me, my dearest.”  
  
“I thought that you were also completely against my decision, that’s all…”  
  
“You know I trust and support your decisions, Roger. Well… most of the time,” Madame Hickman said. “I try to support your and your sister’s decision as much as I could.”

Roger then remembered that it was his mother who helped Clare to take the country’s Royal medical entrance exam for aspiring royal doctors and nurses, the very first one that finally allowed female examiners. Because his Highness, finally signed the rule not to allow gender discrimination in workplaces anymore, starting from the palace itself. It was a bold move for a foreign King.   
  
“Clare speaks fondly about his Majesty, doesn’t she?”  
  
“She does,” Madame Hickman agreed. “I can sense that she truly respects him as well.”  
  
Roger gasped. “Oh, mother! Do you think maybe she’s in love him?”  
  
His mother shakes her flaxen head. “She hasn’t told me anything yet.”  
  
_Well there are so many things that she hasn’t told you yet…_

“Does he have any concubines now, mother? Especially now that her Majesty is with child?”  
  
“That is what I’m not sure of, dear. Since they got married and crowned, I haven’t heard any rumors about him getting any concubines.”  
  
“Maybe, he loves our Majesty the Queen very much…” Roger guessed.  
  
“Or, maybe, he’s afraid that the people will turn on him if he were to sire a bastard,” Madame Hickman said as she snips the thread. She gave Roger a meaningful look when she adds, “Considering that he’s a bastard himself.”  
  
The King, His Majesty Brian of Lambethbury, was the third son and the youngest child of the neighboring King Harold III of Lambethbury, with his mistress, Lady Ruth Wilhelmina. However, his mother wasn’t just a typical mistress; she didn’t come from a noble family but she was the Head of the Royal Physicians.  
King Harold III and his Queen, Mary Isabelle II of Eveienthal had six children altogether, two of whom survived adulthood: Princess Mary Louise (died at the age of seven), Prince John Harold (stillborn), the late King James IV (murdered and beheaded while in a battlefield abroad, age 23), Princess Mary Elizabeth (died at four months old), Princess Marie Margaret (married to King Arthur VI of Gueverre), and Princess Mary Clementine (died at the age of five).

“How far is the Queen, mother? Four months? Five?” Roger asked.  
  
“Five,” she answered. “If she is to have a son, then this country is truly blessed.”  
  
Roger makes sign of the cross before saying, “May God bless the King and Queen.” 

“Amen,” Madame Hickman bows and affectionately kisses the crown of Roger’s head. “Add some logs to the fire, will you?”  
  
Roger stood up and did what he was told. A bit distracted, he watches as the logs slowly burn.  
  
“Come here, son. I have something to give you.”  
  
He turned his head and kneels in front of his beloved mother.  
  
Madame Hickman gently smiled at him. Cupping Roger’s face she says, “I’m very proud of you and adore you with all my heart. You continue to make me the luckiest mother in the world. You may be one of the youngest, strongest, and well-known warriors, but to me, you are still my precious child and my only son.”  
  
Madame Hickman gifted him a handmade perfume sachet.  
  
“Oh, mother. Thank you,” closing his eyes, Roger presses his left cheek against her warm palm. Basking in the words of his mother.  
  
“Always remember this, Roger: you’re a Taylor and a Hickman. Your name’s been written in History books and will continue to be celebrated as a living hero.”

~☆♛☆♕☆♛☆♕☆~

  
Roger’s trip to Lombardy-Pazar’s main castle has been nothing but lavish. The King had sent the royal carriage to pick him up and even sent a young courtier to attend Roger’s needs while travelling, much to Baron Taylor’s surprise. The military commander even stayed in one of the nicest inns in the country for two days, before continuing the journey to the castle.  
  
However, Roger still wasn’t able to face the King when he finally arrived at the palace. The sun has already set. The palace was well guarded. Two soldiers had to accompany him. Roger was greeted by the King’s secretary and personal advisor, Sir Frederick Rustomji-Bulsara, at his office instead.  
  


“I’m so pleased to see you well, Lord Taylor,” clad in a royal black clothing of Lambethbury called hakama, Sir Frederick welcomed him a quick hug while smiling. “I hope the trip has been kind to you.”  
  


“Thank you, Sir,” Roger answered, smiling back as he gets a whiff of Sir Frederick’s floral chypre perfume. “I appreciate His Majesty’s kindness and graciousness.”  
  


Sir Frederick gestured him to sit down and offered him tea. Just as he was taking his first sips, Roger realized that they’re now alone. And he could feel that the Royal personal advisor is now examining him from across the table.  
  
The young military met Sir Frederick’s dark brown gaze as he looks up. The darkness of his hakama matches the young advisor’s shaggy, shoulder-length jet black hair. Roger thinks that Sir Frederick might not be born a native Lambethburian because of his tan skin.  
  
Sir Frederick flashes his slightly large set of extra-pearly white teeth before saying, “Lord Taylor, I must say that it was really a surprise for His Majesty the King that you’ve accepted this offer.”  
  
“How could I even refuse such offer, Sir?” Roger tried to sound coy.  
  
“Well.. your father, Baron Taylor, err… let’s say that he wasn’t thrilled when he first heard about this,” Sir Frederick said. “I’ve even visited your manor once — a very nice house, by the way— but he declined quickly.”  
  
_I also heard that father shooed you away like a pestering fly..._

“You see, my father thought that I was to marry and retire after coming back to war.”  
  
“Retire? At the age of 25?” Sir Frederick stared at him incredulously.

“I’ve been thrown into war since I was fifteen, Sir,” Roger answered. “I think I deserve a quiet life for a bit.”

It took a couple of seconds for the advisor to answer. “Of course.”

Roger took his cup again and continues to drink his tea. Sir Frederick did the same.

“And what about the marriage? Are you wed, my Lord?” it was the advisor who spoke again.

“No…” the tea suddenly tasted bitter in Roger’s throat. “It was a long, complicated story.”

“Hmmnn… well… this kingdom is full of beautiful, talented, and fearless young noble ladies,” Sir Frederick said. "You might set your eyes on one."  
  
Roger offered him the smallest smile. “So I’ve heard from my sister.”

“Ah! Yes! Her Eminence Lady Clare Taylor,” Sir Frederick uttered his sister’s name with pure respect. “It’s not really that difficult to tell the resemblance. Aren’t you a pair of beauties?”  
  
“Thank you, kind Sir,” Roger accepted the complement, completely used to them.

With the Taylor siblings’ gold platinum hair and unforgettable, alluring, huge sapphire-blue eyes, it has always been easy for them to stand out from the crowd ever since they were young. However, Roger’s beauty has not always been an advantage to him, especially at war.

Finally, the advisor stated, “Tomorrow, you shall meet Her Majesty and some of her ladies-in-waiting. In private.”  
  
_And the King…?  
  
_“A maid shall wake you up at six. Please do not introduce yourself to anyone yet. Kindly tell them an alias if someone asks for your name,” Sir Frederick told him. “You shall wear the lower rank courtier’s uniform for now.”  
  
Roger thinks that if his father’s present in the same room with them, Baron Taylor must’ve already snarled at the King’s personal advisor and must’ve threatened to cut his tongue for _degrading_ his son like this.

“I understand,” Roger answered, face expressionless.  
  
Sir Frederick stands up and he followed. That adjourns their first meeting. The moment they reached the door and before he was dismissed, the young advisor threw his arms around the young military commander once more. Roger felt that the air changed and suddenly became heavy. He immediately raised his guard.  
  
“I trust you to loyally serve our Queen, Lord Taylor. With all your life,” Sir Frederick whispered carefully against Roger’s ear. “There are watchful eyes and eavesdropping anywhere you go. This palace is full of snakes, my Lord. Beware not to be bitten…”  
  
“I shall serve my Queen Christine next to my God—“  
  
“…Nor be one of them,” there’s a clear hidden message behind the advisor’s words.  
  
“I’d rather be fed to the wolves alive if that happened, Sir,” meeting Sir Frederick’s calculating gaze, by this time, Roger understands that this man would be watching him like a hawk from this point forward.  
  
This man, the King’s right hand man, a foreigner himself, only trusts Roger the slightest. He does not care about Roger’s wealth and title. He doesn’t see Roger as an ally nor a friend.  
  
Roger knew that with just one wrong move, his head might end up rolling down to the ground.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hi guys! How are you all? It's been a while since I've posted! I'm still working on the current Chapter of 'The Prince in the Tower' (please check it out if you haven't read it). I've been trying to take advantage to write update my fics while I'm stuck at home and in quarantine.**
> 
> **Hope you're all staying safe and well.**
> 
> **xo**


	2. Chapter 2

**T** he first time Roger met the Queen, she was only four-years-old. It was during a banquet before Roger was headed into his very first war. He remembers the innocent, wide-eyed little Princess Christine who was perched prettily on her father’s lap, the late King Theodore II. Everyone in the palace adored her. Prince (later King) Charles even volunteered to carry his little sister around, to show off to the lords and the ladies who attended while being watched by an army of guards and governesses.

“Do a little wave, Chrissy. Give them a little wave, my sweet Princess,” Prince Charles cooed happily.

Who would have thought that only in ten years later, she would be Queen? And who would have thought that her vigorous, full of life, and outgoing older brother would suffer and would be killed by a deadly disease called pneumonia, only within his three-year reign?

It seems like everything just happened in a blink of an eye. 

The Queen, who just turned fifteen the previous month, looks no more than like a child. She was dressed in a creamy gold gown. On her head was a beautiful circlet while her long, chestnut colored hair set into loose curls. Her left hand, heavy with rings, was caressing her obvious growing belly while she gave her other hand to Roger for a kiss.

It was Sir Frederick who introduced Roger to Her Majesty and her chosen ladies-in-waiting, a little later after lunch, in the privacy of her bedroom.

“Aren’t you a beauty, my Lord?” dimples appeared on both of her cheeks. “I’m afraid my ladies won’t focus on me anymore because they’ll be distracted by your beauty.”

“No one’s beauty in this world would rival with yours, my Lady,” Roger said softly. “And that’s coming from someone who had visited other royal courts abroad.”

And it’s true. Compared to the women of the neighboring kingdoms, Queen Christine is one of the most beautiful royals Roger has seen in real life. Just remembering the princesses of Rashtas, who all have massive underbite, large noses, and freaky large eyes (as if they’re always surprised), just made Roger skin crawl.

Roger thought that he saw Sir Frederick made a forced smile that almost looks like a grimace while the ladies who have been staring at him were whispering, giggling, and blushing. 

Pleased, the Queen’s cerulean eyes twinkles, “How old are you, my Lord?”

“Twenty-five, my Lady.”

“Have we met before?”

“Yes, my Queen,” Roger accepted the drink from one of the ladies. “However, I’m afraid you won’t remember because you were so little back then.”

Letting out a shy giggle, the Queen asked, “But I’m _still_ little, am I, my Lord?”

Shocked, Roger couldn’t think of a quick, smart answer. 

Yes, the Queen could still pass as a child bride. _A child having a child._ But to admit it out loud would be an absolute insult to the King.

With Sir Frederick watching him, Roger chose his next words wisely, “You are perfect the way you are right now, my Queen.” 

Perhaps, not fully satisfied with Roger’s answer, the Queen ended their banter and turned to Sir Frederick instead. “When is His Majesty coming home, Sir?”

“A little later this week, my Lady,” the royal advisor answered. “He sends you kind words and tells you not to worry.”

“Is everything going well with the Asturians? I thought my husband would be back sooner than this.”

_Ah… so the King is currently abroad…_

“Everything is fine, your Majesty,” smiling, Sir Frederick assured her. “In fact, the Asturian King gifted you and His Majesty a cradle. It should arrive tomorrow or the next day after that.”

The ladies-in-waiting gasped and smiled at the Queen all at the same time. 

“Have you met His Majesty, Lord Taylor?” Queen Christine changed the topic.

Roger shook his head. “Not as of yet, Madame.”

“You haven’t?” the Queen blinked, a frown forming on her smooth forehead. “That’s a bit _impossible_. Aren’t you a commander of the military? Does that mean you haven’t been knighted?”

_I —especially my father— have been wondering about the same thing…_

“Your Majesty _—_ ”

“His Majesty has been planning about the knighthood,” Sir Frederick interjected, sounding a bit flustered. “But, let’s not discuss this without the King and with the Lord Taylor here. It would just spoil the surprise.”

“Oh! Pardon me!” worried, the Queen consciously covered her pink lips with her left hand that shows her eye-catching wedding ring. “I should’ve kept my lips shut about the matter. Apologies, Sir Frederick.”

“Don’t mind it, Your Majesty,” slightly waving his hand, Sir Frederick smiled at the young, pregnant Queen. Then he proceeded to explain how Roger would watch them from afar from now, until the return of His Majesty Brian. “It’s for your and your child’s safety. Also, this was an order from the King.”

The royal advisor then added that they would have to temporarily use an alias to address Roger. For someone who is familiar for using an alias, Roger picked the name ‘Leon’.

“Leon?” the Queen and her ladies started giggling again. “That sounds like ‘lion’.”

Roger smiled at her. “Or if you may, Your Majesty, we could use my war flower code name, Rhododendron, instead?”

As if Roger just presented her the most brilliant fact, the Queen’s eyes grew wide as saucers and gasped, “ _You’re_ Rhododendron?”

The young military commander humbly bowed his head. “And your loyal servant, my Queen.”

Every kingdom's head of military troops bears a unique code name. For the Lombardy-Pazar troops, each of them uses flower names as codes. The late King Charles’ war flower code name was ‘Gladiolus’. Meanwhile, if Roger could remember it correctly, King Brian of Lambethbury has two code names: ‘Condor’ (in Lambethbury) and ‘Azalea’ (in Lombardy-Pazar). Roger finds it funny and strange that he and His Majesty share the same plant family. Moreover, their war crests are also similar that sometimes confuse both rivals and allies. 

“Gladiolus had shared with me some great stories about you, Rhododendron,” the Queen, whose chosen symbol is ‘Daisy’, flashes Roger a teary smile. A memory of her older brother might be running in her head right now.

Suddenly, one lady raised and whispered something to the Queen. 

“Oh, kindly excuse me, my lords. But it’s time for my embroidery lesson.”

The royal advisor and the young commander stood up and kissed her hands before leaving. 

“I’ll see you both around. Have a good day, Sir Frederick...” there’s a playful smile on the Queen’s lips. “...and Sir Leon.”

Sir Frederick and Roger walked in silence as they were heading to the castle’s Department of Archives and Identification. They have to get Roger’s identification tag as he won’t be wearing the head or the royal guards uniform up until further notice. 

Right now, Roger is clad in a raisin-colored doublet paired with tapered-fit pants and knee-high riding boots; a flat cap sits on his flaxen head. 

When Sir Frederick saw him the first time this morning, the royal advisor made a comment _—_ or perhaps, he’s joking _—_ that Roger could pass as a town’s paperboy. A pretty one, the advisor clarified. Either way, Roger did not find his words funny, so he didn’t respond. 

“You know you should’ve lied,” Sir Frederick said, breaking the silence between them.

Roger stopped on his tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

“About your knighthood,” Sir Frederick also stopped walking. “Her Majesty shouldn’t be worried with _that_ matter. As you know, the late King Charles is a big advocate for his kingdom’s soldiers and _—_ ”

“Just so you know, Sir Frederick, I was almost on my deathbed when the late King Charles held his last knighting ceremony. Who would have known that that would be his _last_?” Roger could no longer hide the growing annoyance in his voice. “As for King Brian, so far, he had only held two knighting ceremonies, and I was away for both. Why? Because I was at war. For _his_ kingdom.”

The clenching of the advisor’s jaw was obvious and his expression darkened. Perhaps, he wasn’t expecting that Roger would finally talk back to him after all the days he’s been making passive-aggressive comments towards Roger. 

In addition, Sir Frederick should’ve also known that he’s _not_ really in the position to use power-tripping on Roger. Without the King’s backing, he’s nothing but a mere foreigner _—both_ of them, technically. If Roger is to act like a petty, powerful noble, he could ask his father to arrange an accident to harm Sir Frederick. Thankfully for the royal advisor, Roger’s brain doesn’t work that way.

“So you really haven’t met the King, Lord Taylor?” Sir Frederick asked, his tone slightly different. 

Ignoring the advisor’s question, Roger just simply walked away from him.

~☆♛☆♕☆♛☆♕☆~

The next few days have been nothing but a total bore. When they said that Roger has to watch the Queen from afar, they really meant that he has to always be on stand-by, three or four feet away from her and her ladies-in-waiting. 

Since there’s only a handful of people who really know who Roger is and his real position, it was quite hard to socialize with the other nobles. He had seen some of his cousins while roaming around the palace’s grounds during his breaks but they either ignored him nor did not recognize him.  
The most embarrassing moment was when Roger saw his Uncle, Duke Thalbott Wollingsworth-Taylor, who is also the Vice Secretary of the Department of Civil Administration. Roger greeted him excitedly but the only reaction that he got from him was, “Do I know you, young man?”

“I-It’s me, Uncle. I’m Roger… Roger Taylor,” it’s ridiculous to Roger that he has to introduce himself like this. “Son of Baron Michael Taylor and Baroness Winifred Hickman. Uncle, it’s me.”

“Really?” Duke Wollingsworth-Taylor lets out a scoff. “Please, young man. I don’t have time for your games. Why don’t you just go back to your post and stop bothering me, alright?”

“No, really, Uncle it’s me!” Roger insisted. “I was assigned to be the Queen’s _—”_

Then Roger remembered that he wasn’t allowed to disclose his position to anyone in the palace until the King’s arrival. Except for the Queen, her chosen ladies, Sir Frederick, Clare, and some chosen guards. 

“You were assigned to be a lower rank courtier?” sarcastically, Duke Wollingsworth-Taylor finished Roger’s half-way sentence. Then he adds, “Yes. I can see your uniform, lad.”

It was embarrassing and hurtful how one of Roger’s favorite Uncles rejected him like this. Has the Duke really forgotten what Roger looked like? It’s only been two years since the last time they’ve seen each other. 

“Also, just so you know, my nephew won’t be here in the castle. Rather he’ll be in his hometown as he’s about to be wed,” Duke Wollingsworth-Taylor adds. “Good day, young man.”

Roger was angry when he narrated the story to Clare, as he was walking her back to her private apartments in the castle, the same night. The Queen allowed them as it was only a fifteen minute walk from Her Majesty’s bedroom. Clare was assigned to be one of the Queen’s junior Physicians. It was a sight that is a little _humorous_ to see, as they used to be playmates when they were little children.

“Well, maybe, they don’t really have a clue that it was really you,” Clare is obviously giving their relatives some benefit of the doubt. “Or, perhaps they were instructed by Sir Frederick to pretend not to know you? Or… it’s just that he did not recognize you at all?”

“Does it look like that I’ve aged ten years older after coming back to war?” an unfamiliar feeling of self-consciousness creeps into Roger.

“No! That’s not what I meant, you fool,” Clare clicks her tongue. “It’s the _uniform._ But yeah, you look like you’ve aged a little, Roger _—_ but just a little. Nevertheless, you’re still a beauty… like me.”

Rolling his eyes, Roger snorts at his sister’s vanity. 

After reaching Clare’s apartments, she begged Roger to stay for a bit. “Don’t worry! It’ll be quick! I want to give you some of my beauty products.”

“Ugh! I don’t want to be a woman, Clare,” disgusted, Roger made a face. But he remained seated on his sister’s study desk with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Clare ignored him and started rummaging a cabinet full of colored concoctions placed inside glass jars and bottles. Everything was arranged neatly and labled. 

Meanwhile, Roger’s eyes started wandering around his younger sister’s apartments: it was the same size as her bedroom at home. It’s almost as if the decorations were similar: lots of peach colored pelmets & valances. Roger could rant about the temporary courtier uniform that he was forced to wear all-day, but he would never complain about his own private apartments in the castle. 

As Roger was picking up their framed family photo next to him, he vaguely heard Clare asking, “Any news about His Majesty’s return?” 

“Come again?”

“His Majesty. When is he coming back?” Clare spoke louder this time. “Wasn’t he supposed to be back days ago?”

“I don’t know,” now staring at their family photo that was taken three years ago, Roger shrugged. “Hey, do you have any books I could borrow? I get really bored on my duty sometimes. Any novels or books of poems _—_ and no! Not the medical ones, please.”

“Huh?” Clare walked towards her bed with a couple of glass bottles in her arms. Then she took a thick book on her bedside table. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Sir Frederick said that there was a deal that His Majesty is trying to close with the Asturians and Zhong-Lhizts,” Roger watches as Clare took an empty cardboard box under her bed and placed the things there. “So there was a delay.”

“He really has to go home though…”

“Oohh! Do you miss His Majesty that bad, Lady Clare?”

Clare frowned at him. “No. It’s bad for the Queen to worry too much. It’ll affect her child.”

“Clare, just be honest. It’s just the two of us here: you like the King, don’t you?” grinning mischievously, Roger continues to tease his younger sister. “Do you want to be His Majesty’s concubine?”

“Alright, Roger, get out now. You’re getting annoying,” Clare purposely dropped the box on his lap, hitting Roger’s crotch.

“Ow! That hurt, you little _—”_

“Now, listen to me carefully, Roger. I’m not going to repeat myself,” as she was about to give him instructions, Clare glared at him.

“Can you at least give me a pen and paper to write it down, Lady Doctor?” Roger complained, gently covering his crotch with his hand.

“Here, you problematic child,” Clare practically slapped a pad of paper and pen on Roger’s left thigh. “Use this blue bottle to wash your face, morning and night, thrice a week. Be gentle. Don’t rub your skin too much. This green one is a cream, use it every night. This purple one is for your dark circles, apply it after you bathe, morning and night. As for your lips, I got you some rose balm. You got them all?”

“Yes, witch doctor. I got it,” jotting it all down, Roger replied snottily in a joking manner. “Thank you. Should I also boil some lizards and cockroaches to make it more effective?”

“Yes. You should. It’ll make you prettier than any Queen in this world,” Clare playfully rolled her eyes, smiling widely. “You may go now, patient. Don’t forget to place your donations outside my door.”

Roger lets out a laugh and gives his younger sister a hug. It has always been so easy to annoy Clare and make her laugh and smile at the same time.

They both bade each other goodnight after. 

Just as Roger was walking back to his apartments, carrying his box of goods, he felt someone was watching him from the dark somewhere. So cautiously, Roger walked a bit slower than normal and made his footsteps lighter. His senses heightened. 

_On my right! By the trees!_

Placing his box on the ground, the skilled military commander prepared his weapon, a hidden combat knuckle duster dagger. He spotted a moving shadow, running away from his direction. The person’s figure got accidentally illuminated by the moon, showing its patterned white hakama and dark hair. There’s only one person who Roger knows wears a hakama. _It was Sir Frederick!_

Sighing exasperatedly and disappointedly, Roger was shaking his head as hids his weapon back. “That fucking fool…”

~☆♛☆♕☆♛☆♕☆~

Roger confronted Sir Frederick the next day about what happened last night, half an hour before his duty started. 

“Just what on earth are you talking about, Lord Taylor?” dressed in a black hakama adorned with gold details, Sir Frederick looked genuinely confused and irritated with Roger’s accusation. “I was in a late-night meeting with the Chief Minister of the Department of Treasury and Taxation that time.”

“I saw you, Sir Frederick,” Roger firmly stands on his ground. “You’re the only one who wears a hakama and has dark hair in this palace.”

“Ha! That’s where you’re wrong, Lord Taylor,” Sir Frederick crossed his arms, both the tone of his voice and his smile is condescending. “ _Because_ of His Majesty and I, some of the palace’s staff had already adapted wearing Lambethbury’s hakama, yukata, and haori, especially at night. It’s really fashionable and comfortable, you see. You should try it sometime.”

“No, thank you,” annoyed that he has no other evidence, Roger declined the offer in gritted teeth.

The advisor gave Roger a haughty once-over, who is still in his lower-rank courtier uniform. “Or maybe not. Not for now.”

  
  


The month is almost ending yet His Majesty hasn’t made any appearance still. Bored in his life, Roger was hidden and stuck in one of the many trees surrounding the castle’s immaculate garden. Today, the Queen decided to invite some noble ladies of Lambethbury for a tea party. 

From where he was watching, Roger could see the whole garden and feel the fresh, cold air. The sun glows warmly in his skin. It was really such a perfect weather for a tea party or a picnic. 

With the book resting on his chest, Roger wonders what his sister or his mother is doing by now? They both loved tea parties like these. Clare was invited to join, but she had already agreed to join one of her Superiors for an important Physicians’s seminar that will be held downtown.

Eyeing the Queen’s guests, a group of ten noble ladies, Roger recognized at least half of them. Along with them were five ladies-in-waiting and four armed courtiers.

“God, this is really boring…” Roger started to feel sleepy but kept his attention to the people below him.

Just a little later, Roger spotted Sir Frederick, along with another courtier, walking towards the garden’s gazebo, where the Queen and the noble ladies are. The unfamiliar courtier is carrying a huge red box.

Something piqued Roger’s curiosity. So then he switched position and moved closer to them. 

One of the courtiers halts the courtier Sir Frederick had brought along, to quickly inspect the box that he was carrying. Just like Roger, that courtier is also wearing a low-ranked uniform. Roger couldn’t really his face clearly as he was blocked by Sir Frederick, who is all-smiles and friendly as he greets the Queen and her noble guests. 

The Queen lets out an excited squeal, after one of the ladies had asked her to stand up and placed a blindfold over the Queen’s eyes. The ladies cheered loudly as if they’re watching a jousting match, after the low-ranked courtier knelt down in front of their blindfolded young Queen, with the opened box presented in his hands.

It would have been a fun scene to watch, if only the four armed courtiers and the ladies-in-waiting faces didn’t turn paler every second. That was the moment when Roger got alerted. He just noticed how uneasy Sir Frederick’s smile is now.

 _‘This palace is full of snakes, my Lord. Beware not to be bitten…’_  
  
Sensing trouble, Roger quickly hid in one of the gazebo’s pillars. He tried to mentally catch one of the courtier’s eyes, as if to ask, _‘What are you doing?!’_

The courtier just gave Roger a helpless look.

After taking off the blindfold, Queen Christine cried in joy when she saw the gift in the box. “Oh my goodness! That’s beautiful!”

“Not as nearly beautiful as you, my Queen,” it was the lower-ranked courtier who spoke.

It was as if Roger was watching the next scene to unfold in slow motion: the courtier swiftly placed the box on the table, then pulled the young, pregnant Queen so close to him, before he kissed her in front of everybody.

And it was like everyone around them was frozen and left gawking. 

Bolting into the scene, Roger quickly and expertly untangled the stunned Queen from the disgusting and dangerous intruder.

There was a loud shattering of glasses and silverwares on the gazebo’s floor as Roger pinned the intruder with his own body. His weapon was placed close to the pulsing vein of the intruder’s neck.

“Lord Taylor!” Sir Frederick along with the other courteriers shouted.

“S-Sir Leon!” the Queen cried, worriedly.

The intruder’s pair of bright, scared hazel eyes met Roger’s cold, murderous glare. 

“B-Brian! Your Majesty!” 

Roger blinked twice, a cold feeling slowly spreading his body. The King, His Majesty Brian of Lambethbury is here now. In this mess of a place. With just one look, it could easily be judged that Roger had failed to protect the Queen. _Is the King behind him now? Watching all of this with a disappointed look in his face?_

“Sir Leon, please! Please don’t hurt His Majesty!” the Queen begged.

_Don’t hurt… His Majesty?_

“M-My lord, please…” the person below Roger gasped for air. “I can’t breathe…”

“L-Lord Taylor, please withdraw your weapon,” Sir Frederick is now pulling Roger’s wrist away from the person’s face. “Please don’t dare to hurt the King, I beseech you!”

_This person… is the King?_

As if he was thrown into a deep ocean as it dawns on him, Roger quickly pulled himself up and staggered backwards. His back colliding on the side of the table, knocking another wine glass that poured on his buttocks.

The Queen tearfully rushed to help the King to stand up and steadies himself. “A-Are you okay, Your Majesty?”

“Y-Yes. I’m fine,” King Brian’s wide-eyes are still fixated on Roger. “Don’t worry. I’m just a bit… shocked. That’s all…”

Now that Roger had finally seen the King in the flesh and up-close, he just now realized how young His Majesty is. He could almost pass as a teenager, despite being tall. Just like Sir Frederick, the King has long, wavy jet-black hair that frames his delicate facial bone structure.

Roger was about to drop and kneel down infront of the King’s to ask for forgiveness, when the Queen let out a sharp cry, fingers clawing her bump. 

“Your Majesty!”

Just then, the King’s attention turned into his wife, very worried. In a snap, the King looked straight into Roger’s eyes and ordered,“You! Call the Royal Physician, now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~!!! (☆▽☆) 
> 
> This is my second on-going MayLor/Queen fic. I got inspired to write this fic after traveling in Japan for four months (before the virus) and for watching the show called ‘The Tudors’ over and over (＾ω＾)
> 
> I hope you could give this fic a chance. Also, I’ve updated my other MayLor fic, ‘The Prince in the Tower’. So if you’re interested, please check it out~! Merci~! (♥ω♥*)
> 
> Your comments and kudos are very much welcome and appreciated. Have a great day!
> 
> xoxo


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